A Bit of Swedish Sausage

Article by: Austin Bush, May 2007

What is it about sausage that has made it such a prominent food in Sweden? For insight, I contact Göran Lager, a journalist and food historian who, coincidentally, has written an entire book about one type of Swedish sausage called falukorv. (According to Lager, it is the most popular type of sausage in Sweden - 40,000 tons are consumed every year.) Lager agreed to serve as my guide through the jungle of sausage options in Sweden's capital, and to teach me some of the history behind this very Swedish of foods.

'Sausages have been eaten in Sweden since Viking times,' explains Lager. 'They were called fjälster, which is an old Nordic word meaning a place to hide something, in this case the bits of meat that don't look so nice.' Lager goes on to explain that in the early days, pig stomach or even womb was used to encase the less desirable bits of meat. Today korv, as sausages are collectively known in Sweden, are typically stuffed into a small intestine.

'During the 1897 World Fair they introduced korvmadamer, ladies who sold sausages from boxes suspended from their necks.'

Our first stop is Wurst Mäster, a small company in Stockholm's former slaughterhouse district. Wurst Mäster's part owner and manager, Sven Hammare, takes us on a tour of his small factory where fillings are being ground, casings filled and sausages smoked. Spurning the reject-meat image that most people have of a sausage factory, Hammare insists on using high-quality cuts for the more than 45 varieties of sausage. 'Our sausages are more expensive, but have more taste,' explains Hammare of his product, which is sold in supermarkets and sausage stalls across the city.

Korv are generally associated with street food in Sweden. Lager and I make our way to Sankt Eriks Grillen - an über-typical korvkiosk (sausage stall) that has been preparing sausages for 44 years. Korvkioks generally consist of a small window for ordering and have no seating. Your korv can be boiled or grilled, and can be served in a tiny hot dog bun or wrapped in tunnbröd (thin tortilla-style bread).

As Lager orders, I notice the typically Swedish array of toppings including räksallad (shrimp salad, a mixture of mayonnaise and tiny shrimp), Bostongurka (Boston cucumber, chopped pickles mixed with mayonnaise), mashed potatoes, lingonberry jam and roasted onions. After some torturous decision-making and a few moments of intense discussion with the cook, Göran orders. Moments later he hands me a grilled hot dog generously topped with räksallad and mustard. The sausage is at least twice as long as the ridiculously tiny bun. The shrimp salad is a cool, creamy counterpoint to the meat.

'Sausages were called fjälster, which is an old Nordic word meaning a place to hide something, in this case the bits of meat that don't look so nice.'

According to Lager, the practice of selling sausages on the streets of Stockholm got its start during the 1897 World Fair. 'This is where they introduced korvmadamer, ladies who sold sausages from boxes suspended from their necks,' says Lager. 'The sausages were held in water, which was heated from below by a flame. It wasn't long until the korvmadamer were replaced by korvgubbar (sausage guys) who, due to concerns about hygiene, were later replaced by the covered sausage stalls. The first korvkiosk was established in Solna in 1954, and today there are more than 1500 in Sweden.'

From Sankt Eriks Grillen we walk a few blocks over to Günther's, regarded by many as Stockholm's, if not Sweden's, premier korvkiosk. In the early 1980s the stall's proprietor, Günther Schwartz, was the first to introduce foreign sausages to the Swedish public. His German, Hungarian, Polish and Romanian sausages were an instant hit, and today sausages with names like chorizo, merguez and kabanoss can be found at nearly any kiosk in Stockholm.

Although Günther recently passed away, his successor, a man known far and wide not only for his skill with sausages but for his opulent wig, is manning the grill. Günther's sausages are massive and come stuffed inside an immense baguette-like bread that is grilled until crispy. This is topped with an oil-parsley mixture, pickled cabbage and your choice of mustard and/or ketchup. At the first bite into his mustard-smeared kabanoss baguette, Göran leans back and emits a moan of pleasure. A sound, I imagine, that has been heard countless times in the homes and on the streets of this sausage-loving country. Chorizo fest, indeed.